The Conference Dances, Yet Makes No Progress (1)
A few years ago, before the chaos of the Ten Eunuchs had even erupted, back when Liu Bei was still learning Gongsun Zan’s “survival tricks” under Lu Zhi’s tutelage, she had once received a lesson in negotiation tactics from him.
“To put it simply, you split your rivals in two. Split them again, and again, and again… keep dividing them until the fractured remnants can be swallowed one piece at a time. Simple, right?”
“…Easier said than done. Does it actually work?”
“If you have enough power, it works every time. Take the Emperor, for example. He carved his officials into the Clean Stream and the Turbid Stream, then split the Turbid Stream further into the Eunuch faction and the Imperial In-law faction. The Clean Stream fractured along academic, regional, and blood ties into the Three Excellencies, the Eight Heroes, the Eight Talents, the Eight Stewards, and the Eight Lords. With only that much division, ministerial authority lay in tatters, bowing beneath the Emperor’s name.”
Divide and Rule. The method of governance first devised by Philip II of Macedon in the fourth century BCE still served as the textbook answer for dealing with rivals more than two millennia later. The forward-thinking Emperor Ling had independently arrived at the same principle from the far side of the world and was happily carving up his officials to suit his own tastes. Of course, because the technique had originally been designed for use against foreign enemies, the Han that he tore apart ultimately collapsed—but that was no concern of his. He enjoyed every luxury the palace could offer until the day he died.
“You can apply Divide and Rule to your own people, but the country will fall apart if you do.”
Emperor Ling’s Han and Yuan Shao—who had copied the same philosophy, pitting his subordinates against one another in an endless loyalty race—both proved the point. Within ten years of Yuan Shao’s death his forces had splintered, while the three warlord states that had tried to build something like a family business lasted long enough to play out their own version of the Great Game in the third century. Turning the blade on one’s own side was never wise.
“Keep your own people united. Let your enemies divide. Race, religion, occupation—anything works.”
“You would create gaps by occupation?”
“Exactly. Rank the people as scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants, then add your own private prejudices. Or brand northerners as horse-faced barbarians. Spread rumors that southern bumpkins mate with monkeys. Whatever gets the job done.”
“…Senior Brother, if you say that anywhere else you’ll be branded a heretic.”
“But it’s efficient. Admit it.”
“Well… I suppose it is.”
“Once you understand the process, the next tactic is simple: stall for time.”
“Stall for time?”
“Yes. Imagine a future where the realm has shattered into hundreds of pieces, each ruled by its own petty king.”
“You cannot say such things, Senior Brother!”
“Just suppose. Or imagine you’ve risen to one of the Three Excellencies and must debate countless rivals in the central court.”
“That, at least, I can picture.”
“If your power is overwhelming, there’s no problem—you simply crush them. Force always trumps logic. But if your strength isn’t enough to dominate everyone, and they’re already plotting against you, then stall. Host banquets, organize hunts, take to your bed with a convenient illness. Drag things out until the divided enemy grows exhausted. In the end, the side that stays united wins.”
When Napoleon’s era ended and the Congress of Vienna gathered to redraw Europe, Metternich had simply thrown a ball whenever the talks turned against him. The conference dragged on for ten full months, and he succeeded in dismantling the European order Richelieu had built.
“Unite your allies, divide your enemies, and then simply stall. Time itself becomes your weapon. All political maneuvering is just different ways of applying that single principle. There may be other methods, but in my experience this one is the most reliable.”
---
Both Liu Bei and Cao Cao possessed the potential to reunify a Han that would one day be carved into hundreds of fragments. Even now, while they were still rough gems, the two of them had tongues sharp enough to handle Guo Si’s messenger with ease.
“So you’re saying our Liaodong troops were sacrificed for no reason because of Lü Bu’s arbitrary violence…”
“That is not what I—”
“Then are you claiming that Grand Commandant Dong issued orders to attack the borders of Yan?”
“That is also not—”
“So it’s neither this nor that. Then was the order to attack me issued by the Grand Commandant himself?”
“…I cannot say.”
“Then we’ll simply wait. How long must we wait before General Guo comes in person?”
A fast rider had already been dispatched to Liaodong. In a few days the news would reach Gongsun Zan, and within a week the rulers of Yan and Luoyang would meet.
Liu, Gongsun won’t want war, will he?
Of course not. Senior Brother’s plan was always to end the age of chaos without fighting.
“Very well. We shall wait until General Guo sends another messenger.”
The two rising warlords exchanged written notes and settled on their stance.
“This matter cannot be settled at our level.”
“What do you mean…?”
“Even if Yan is a vassal of the Han, it is still the fief where His Highness the Prince of Bohai resides. You claim it was Lü Bu acting alone, but we cannot simply take that at face value. We must await judgment from above. You understand that anyone listening could interpret this as a plot against an imperial clansman, don’t you?”
Dong Zhuo’s faction had already begun to split into three. When the enemy divided, the next move was always to stall for time.
---
Thanks to merchants who had traveled as far as the Roman Empire, Roman-style roads had begun appearing one by one that winter. They were perfect for galloping horses, and the northern nomads who raised them saw an excellent business opportunity.
“We’ve got plenty of spare horses anyway. Might as well hitch up a carriage…”
Liaodong’s population swelled daily with refugees from Xuzhou and Qingzhou. Farmers’ settlements spread farther from the center, across the still-warm plains of Manchuria. Anyone who needed to visit the Research Institute’s forges had to take a full day off and walk into the city. Among the thick-headed horse-faces, the few with working brains began hitching spare horses to carriages and offering themselves as tour guides for farmers visiting the city. After a few days of earning a modest fare, they realized that driving a bus was far preferable to risking their necks robbing people.
Since “bus” originally meant the massive freight wagons pulled by packhorses, these primitive ancient city buses lived up to the name. Their rudimentary leaf springs and dandelion-rubber tires offered a ride so comfortable it could almost rival the Emperor’s own carriage. The stagecoaches linking farmland and city quickly became Liaodong’s newest attraction.
After washing the night’s grease from his face with the water he had set aside the previous evening and dusting himself with ground talc, Gongsun Zan boarded one of these city buses and rode to the ducal residence beside the institute—his former home. He should have been living there, but the Prince of Bohai and the Emperor now occupied it, so the low-ranking duke found it more convenient for everyone to stay at the seaside summer villa.
“Is anyone there?”
“Who is it?”
“Gongsun Zan, Duke of Yan. I have come to pay my respects to His Imperial Majesty.”
At the steward’s question the gate opened silently. Beyond it sat the Emperor, once again occupying the recliner that had been taken from its rightful owner, reading a book.
The first recliner had been stolen by his father-in-law, the second by his wife, the third by the Prince of Bohai, and the Prince had promptly lost it to his elder brother, the Emperor. Gongsun Zan could always order more from the craftsmen, but the pattern suggested that even a fourth recliner would end up in the Prince’s hands.
Wait a moment… just wait.
Recliners were comfortable. That much was true. The iron frame with its gear mechanism, padded with cotton and deer hide, offered a level of comfort rare in this era. Because East Asia favored floor seating, chairs were reserved for kings, emperors, and high officials. A few cushions on a wooden platform could never match the recliner he had built.
Then… would it sell well as a gift?
The technology itself was nothing extraordinary. Without knowledge of hydraulic cylinders he had used a manual gear system instead, and cotton and deer hide were hardly expensive. The only real cost was labor. He would need to produce a few more recliners and test the market.
In an age when knowledge could be stored only in human minds or books, any scholar had to read constantly. Recliners were perfect for that purpose, and his instincts told him the venture would succeed.
Wait—this isn’t the time for business ideas.
He had wasted precious moments on an irrelevant thought.
“Your Majesty, did you rest well last night?”
“Ah, Duke Gongsun. This chair is so comfortable and cozy—ideal for reading. When I return to Luoyang, might I meet the craftsman who made it?”
“Ah… well, I made it myself.”
“Is that so? Remarkable. I have always used whatever chairs existed, never once thinking to add cotton and hide for greater comfort. A simple change of perspective, and the result is this delightful.”
“I’m glad it pleases you.”
“Xie kept boasting about how wonderful it was to sit in. At first I assumed a chair was merely a chair, but… honestly, it is several times more comfortable than the imperial throne.”
Ah… there it goes. My fourth recliner.
“If it pleases you, I shall have another made and sent to Your Majesty.”
“If you offer it, I shall gratefully accept. I have heard that when one receives a gift, a return courtesy is proper. Is there anything you desire?”
“The Fourth Division Commander will soon arrive to report on yesterday’s battle at Pingyuan. I believe I can still resolve the matter at my level, but if Dong Zhuo’s tyranny grows worse, I would ask only for a single written order to restrain him.”
“I could write a hundred such orders. Anything else?”
“My greatest wish is that Your Majesty remains in good health.”
Yes. If the Emperor died young like his father, Gongsun Zan’s entire vision for the world would collapse with him. The Prince of Bohai might succeed him, but his legitimacy would be far weaker than that of an Emperor who had performed the ascension ritual. Only if the Emperor lived long and healthy could the realm be eased into a soft landing and the age of chaos finally ended.
Take the chair. Take the city. Just don’t die.